Wednesday 25 May 2016

Race report: Scottish Cross Country Series 2016 round 3, Cathkin Braes, 22nd May



I do not know for how long I have been awake but it feels like eternity. Soaked in sweat, I lie on top of the blanket, I am roasting. Suddenly I feel I cannot bear the pain in my stomach any more, so I get out of bed and reach the bathroom to give my dinner back. Crawling back to bed I have a look at my telephone, it is 5:30 a.m. This is the worst food poisoning that happened to me for years. Why the hell should it happen three days before a race? Although I feel much better now, I did not retain any food or drink since yesterday's night training, and two hours of anaerobic intervals begs for a good deal of water and calories. I limp to the kitchen and prepare a mint infusion with honey. It is the only thing I can tolerate at the moment. It is only water with mint and sugar but at that moment it tastes like the Nectar of Gods.

Later that day I managed to go to work but must have looked like a zombie. Even walking was a challenge. Funny enough, the bike commute to work was a salvation and I was enjoying a cool breeze on my face. I did not achieve much besides lying face down on my desk or at my lab bench, so I went back home and forced myself to eat something. It's my birthday tomorrow and my family sent me a box of chocolates, it is almost the only thing my mouth can tolerate. With food poisoning almost everything tastes like cardboard. On Friday I feel much better but it is still hard to eat. At least I am not dehydrated any more.

Then comes Saturday, the race is tomorrow and today the track is taped for practice. I usually increase my calorie intake one day before the race because if I eat too much on race day I feel sleepy. However, energy loading is not really possible today, my stomach is still pretty upset. I just chill out at home before heading to Cathkin Braes around 6 p.m. for a ride. I have been riding there so many times, doing so many race simulations that I will treat it like a “bike feel maintenance”. The sunshine feels so good it seems to cure my food poisoning. Arriving at the top of the dual slalom, I stop and watch Glasgow in the distance. Bright rays of warm sun pierce through the few clouds and pour over the city. I wish I could paint... I will do just one lap, repeating a few technical section then head back home. I need some rest.

Race day, 12:30 p.m. I am driving to the race track, window open to let the warm air come in. The MP3 player feeds the car radio with relaxing gypsy jazz. I switch on the “metal” playlist to help me set my mind into racing mode. Am I ready for this? Sometimes listening to the harder stuff exhausts me... Not this time. Now I feel the need for speed. I park in the overflow car park and get ready. I grab my chip and plate, then go for a warm-up. My legs are already awake from an urban trial session in the morning, so I open the throttle a bit faster than usual. I jump over rocks, snake around corners, winch up the climbs. I am feeling good but the legs go in the red a bit quicker than I would expect. Negotiating a tight bermed corner in the woods, I hear a voice calling my name. It's my friend Thomas who is warming up as well. I see his elbow is scorched, he tells me he just had a big crash there. We finish practising the track together and then split for the final phase of the warm up. I go and put a few climbs at increasing pace to ignite the lactic acid engine. Thomas will not race because now his helmet brace is broken, and after advice from the paramedics.

I meet the other racers at the start area and wait for my name to be called. I am surprised by many habitual racers not being present. Are people on holiday? Were they afraid by the possible cancellation of the event due to the small number of marshals registered in advance? My friend Luke is not present, neither. Thomas will later tell me that he broke his wrist on a big step-down during practice earlier this week. This course is much more technical than it seems at first glance. The high speed rock gardens will take their toll on tires as well, with many people suffering from punctures.

Sport racers are called to align on the grid. Despite my DNF last race because of a broken chain, I am still on the first line. This is good because the start matters a lot here. Unlike other races that have a big fire road climb right from the start and allow easy spread of the racers, here we start on flat and quickly attack technical features and downhill singletrack. I shift gears, grab the brakes and wait for the start. The start area is filled with silence. My stomach feels a bit tight. Is it a remnant from food poisoning or just the stress? I empty my mind and fill it with positive images. I have been rehearsing this so many times, now let the real show begin!

Unleashed by the sound of the gun, we jump off the start line and sprint like angry greyhounds. I am usually good for starts but today I feel the pressure of the field more than I like so I make my sprint last a little more, managing to lead the start of the race once again. We engulf tight corners, rock gardens, drop-offs and reach the dual slalom. While I take the left line, I see somebody pushing hard and negotiating brilliantly the right line, putting me in second position. This will not last much because I immediately overtake him on the next climb. By the time I enter the woods, I catch a Junior racer and overtake... to find my front mech refusing to operate on the following climb! “Putain, putain, putain, PUTAIN!!”. I cannot believe it. Mechanical problems will not start again, will they? I quickly jump off the bike and operate the mech by hand, hopefully it will not be funny again. This glitch allowed John Mackenzie to catch me and he overtakes me just before the long rocky section, as I was timorously following a Junior rider. This was a mistake, I need to be more aggressive.

Now the track goes slightly downhill in the woods and consists of flat and bermed turns with a few rock gardens. The crowd is amazing and cheers us with bells and shouts. It is an unusual feeling to be cheered up, I like it. So far racing was more about suffering in silence in a a murky and spooky wood, but the atmosphere at Cathkin Braes is vibrant. I stay in the wheel of the Junior while John slowly drifts away from sight. This year the course features a kind of impossible dirt climb. I do not even try to climb it on the bike, it would not pass during practice. As I always led the starts so far I must have enough brute power, I need to work on climbing skills... I am also bad at jumping back on the bike (I always wonder how people manage to land on the saddle without making guacamole with their avocados), so I lose a bit of time there as well. The course finishes with a climb that enables me to catch John again. I did not lose so much time after all! For the next two laps I will be in John's wake. I am quite happy because I thought he would drop me in the technical downhill bits but I always managed to remain close. On the first long climb of the second lap I am surprised by his pace, it feels like we are chilling out. I wonder if I will attack now but it feels too early, making a decisive gap will be very difficult at this point. So I patiently follow him, pick up a few lines to try for the next time.

At the beginning of the third lap, I see him stop and jump off the bike. He is having trouble with his chain! I had trouble in the same rocky section myself, with the chain bouncing everywhere and falling off the chainrings. Here is my opportunity to make a difference. I have been chasing the ball so far, now it is in my court and I will not let it go. I ride downhill the same safe way (a crash would annihilate all my efforts) and hammer on the pedals in the climbs, trying to make a drop on my competitors. At the beginning of the last lap, I am still in first position. “You can do it!! Just fucking do it now!!” I shout to myself. I put even more pressure on the cranks during the climb. It is the last lap so it can hurt, I really do not care. I often have a quick look over my shoulder: nobody in sight. As I enter the last climb the situation remains the same. Let's underline the achievement and make a big time gap at the finish line! I give everything left in my legs during the last minutes. As I cross the finish line, something feels wrong. I feel like I wake up from a bad dream and wonder if it was really the final lap. I then hear my name on the sound system, confirming that I finished the race in first position.


It is a funny feeling because I always pictured myself winning a race pulling a wheelie with one hand, the other closed in a tight fist, and shouting “YEEEEES!!”. This is for next time lol. All I did was to hug Thomas who was standing near the finish line and watching the race with his family. There is no sugar left in my blood to feed my brain so I can barely align three sentences before I reach my car and swallow three bananas and put some dry clothes. I indulge myself with Coke, ice cream and a mocha and sit near the ceremony area, enjoying the sun and chatting with a few friends passing by. At this moment my mind is still knocked out by the effort and my result does not feel real yet. The pleasure from the victory will slowly come later that day, like a warm wave of joy putting a never ending grin on my face.

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